


Altruistic Avarice

by BlueMewQT



Category: Original Work
Genre: Geniuses, Good and Evil, High School, Humor, Multi, Star-crossed, Time Travel, Villains, Work In Progress, super powers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2020-12-28 17:21:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21140378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueMewQT/pseuds/BlueMewQT
Summary: Russel Avaryce is a simple teenage evil genius villain in training. His parents have no intention of telling him how in the world they, as a heroine and villain, ever gave eachother the time of day. Russ figures he'll have to find out himself.





	1. Chapter 1

Have you ever looked at your parents and wondered how they ever got together, let alone be with each other long enough to make you? They're such different people-in fact, if they were in public apart, you'd never know they were happily married. That's the way my parents are-even if it's not necessarily like your situation, you still get it.

My folks are almost polar opposites appearance-wise. My Dad is slim and tall with pointed sharp features, tired piercing eyes under furrowed thick brows and a wicked smirk. Sounds normal enough until you get to his coloring. His complexion is stark white punctuated with dark eyes boasting ruby red irises and matching hair slicked back in a suave manner (though it's starting to go salt and pepper on the sides). It's not albinism, it's just the negative side-effects of some crackpot science experiment gone wrong when he was a kid. Long story. That's why I stay away from the biological side of science and stick to gadgetry-though I definitely like that it stuck to his genes so hard I inherited my epic eye color. To be honest, I'd be the spitting image of the guy if I had his skin and hair colors-My sister got those instead with my Mom's freckles blended in... Don't tell her this but it's kinda pretty and suits her... 

Any who-back to my dad. The man is a smartass, sarcastic, egotistical, and calculative genius on the top of the engineering game with his own star-studded corporation fueling the world's masses with tech you'd see in movies set in the distant future (for a Ludacris amount of money, but hey, hyper-intelligent service robots, hovering cars and laser guns). It's impressive, but when you factor in that he used to be an evil genius-supervillain bent on world conquer, it's easy to realize he probably cheated, blackmailed, and lied just as much as he worked hard to get there. I suppose the evil villain thing should have been one of the first things to mention... especially since Mom fought against him as a Hero back in the day.

In my reality, humans have a small chance to have what every little kid, and a fair amount of all other ages, dream of: super powers. It's partially due to my alternate world's still ever-present connections to magic. Humanity can be born with or later develope said incredible abilities depending on a few key factors. Mom was lucky enough to be a part of a tiny percentage (Dad technically is too with his super intellect, but it doesn't have the same... ooumph) that met all the right criteria. 

As her Super persona, Miss Altruistic, she was born with multiple powers (which is even MORE rare). She has super strength, enhanced physical durability, bioluminescence, and the power of flight (she's never mastered it fully, so it’s more like float at a max of 30 feet off the ground for a limited amount of time). My mom was a career hero under the Supers United System for 12 years until she FINALLY retired to focus on her family and art when I turned six. She liked being a hero well enough, but it was stressful being pulled from your life at the drop of a hat because some idiot is causing trouble downtown. Mom is the type to help anyway she can even if it's at her own expense-the exact kind of person SUS loves to take advantage of. 

If you couldn't tell, I'm most definitely Not a hero. I am 100% a villain (in training), but not the "nyehehehe *rubbing hands together creepily*" type. I just loathe how the world works and I want to put an end to all the nonsense-even if I have to take over everything (and I mean EVERYTHING: the world, the galaxy, the universe, the multiverses) to make it run my way.

Once again, I've strayed from my initial topic; my parents. They ran in the good vs. evil game since they were teenagers against each other, yet they still found something they liked in one another. He was a scientifically altered bad guy cursed to look one step away from an evil clown that serves burgers in a yellow jumper (he's gonna kill me for that one XD) and my Mom, an actually fairly-normal looking super hero. Normal isn't bad in this context-she's beautiful (I'm allowed to say that and not be judged. She's my Mom) and able to be in public without people staring for less-than favorable reasons. You usually expect some sort of crazy feature on supers like different colored hair, crazy hairstyles, unusual coloring, or huge muscles. Not her. Mom has pale peachy skin lightly peppered with freckles, pretty cornflower blue eyes, and long wavy brown hair. Typical West European features. I got her skin tone, some freckles here and there, and hair color, but it's more spikey and sticks up everywhere in an almost anime upwards power style (like Dad's hair texture when he doesn't use half a container of hair gel in the morning but softer.) I honestly don't even try to make it "normal looking" because it helps me look even taller. I outgrew my mom far too soon-or at least that's what she thinks. She's just short and doesn't like it when it's more apparent. Most villains thought it was funny facing her cute curvy little self for the first time (at least until she lifted them up with a one hand and slung them around like stuffed animals). Dad did too, then somehow being put in his place by the short heroine didn't make him scared of her. Instead it somehow turned into 20 or so years of marriage with two kids.

That's my parents' background all laid out for you. My turn. My name is Russel Avaryce. I'm 16 and a half, 5, 8 feet tall (still growing), and have a knack for inventing things beyond comprehension- well, not beyond mine, but you know... less smart people. I asked my folks all the time how in the world they got together, but to no avail. They barely gave a single tidbit of information, so I decided I'd find out for myself. I got some unfinished blueprints from my dad's lab, improved upon them, and built a time machine. (He had a good start on it, but a 14 year old can only do so much). 

I'm not gonna go too far into the specifics, but it works as a wearable gadget (I made it a watch if only just to be cleshay) anchoring me to my specific origin in time so I can head back to my proper timeline. I fixed it to where I can choose whether I want to alter the timeline or not via the use of both time and dimensional crossing. 

As the typical time traveling theory goes- I travel back in time and whatever I do has already affected the future I resided in. This all happens within one timeline. However, if I don't like something about my timeline, I can calculate what action would have changed the future in my favor, un-anchor myself and travel to the timeline with the least negative side-effects with said change. This practice takes place in multiple parallel dimensions where I exist. It took a lot of tweaks with the whole 'parallel version of me already living there not wanting to share space' issue. Let’s just say I figured out that two versions of myself from the exact same instance in time CAN “interact” without any paradoxes. I seem to be only one of a few dozen parallel me’s to focus on it long enough to calculate all this out so I’m safe from some other Russ hopping into MY dimension to do the same to ME. Most versions of me would most likely get bored with the task or give in figuring it wasn't worth the hassle. I did it, but I’ll have to put a stop to the time travel portion if it ever goes bad. That’ll be future me’s problem to figure out later. Maybe an inter-dimensional peace pact among Russel-kind will do it... Now watch, I'm gonna get bombarded by Russels telling me not to do it or some future me warning me of Armageddon.


	2. The start of the day (and the actual story XD)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that all the explanations are out of the way, Russel Avaryce can start his day off... Fairly decently.

The day I initiated my trip to the past started out with a bit of a late start. I had been going over my route a few more times way into the night and ended up sleeping in. I had just woken up to a thud well into the morning around 9:30 (I usually wake up for school at like 7). I missed gym (hand-to-hand combat) and was about to miss 2nd period English (Monologues and Scheming being of great importance). My school specializes in training young good and evil-doers in the ways of the ever changing balancing act of heroes and villains-and math of course… They still have regular courses I can breeze through like any other school. 

My folks went to the same place when they were my age. Mom worked hard to get her good grades while Dad took every class and finished with stellar marks without even trying. I follow more in dad's footsteps and don't really mind missing school since I'm usually ahead by a few weeks anyway. That, and missed schoolwork will never be an issue again if the whole time travelling thing is feasible.

In a way, I'm glad I overslept. I'll need all the rest I can get with all the preparation I have to do this morning. Looking at my phone screen still half asleep, I nearly jump out of my skin at a sudden noise. There was a knock at my bedroom door, but there was no way I was speaking up- I need to skip to use my time machine. Another knock, then a grumble sounded through the crack in the doorway before a frustrated looking older maid comes in with her cart of cleaning supplies. This would be my parents' most trusted member of the mansion's help, Head Maid Gertrud, or as everyone is strictly instructed to address her, Momma Gertie. She's a bit of a heavier set lady in her late 70's with broad features, tightly pulled back faded grey and black hair, and a large black beauty mark on her left cheek. Don't let her age make you think she's a sweet lil' old lady- she's knows how to keep people in line and does so with a wrinkly iron fist and monstrous strength. 

I’m lucky my room has two levels; the lower level with my work area and entrance, and the upper rest area on a loft where I happen to be hiding under my covers… I’ve gotta work fast before Momma Gertie eventually gets up the stairs to make my bed. I have two options: either slip into my closet without stumbling over all my crap strewn everywhere, or faking sick so she doesn’t send me to school. The closet is a good option, but with the amount of mess in here, I’m going with plan B. I am NOT graceful and not making a noise in this havoc is impossible. Having done this before a few times, I know just what to do. The first step is to look the part. I achieve this by pinching and rubbing everywhere that gets flushed when my temperature goes up. Next is bundling up. My super heavy bedding is perfect for working up that "trying to break a fever sweat". Lastly? Acting my ass off to the woman that helped raised not only me and my sister, but my dad for the latter half of his teens… She’s a hard one to fool, but I’m an excellent faker and to be a little truthful, its fall and I'm getting allergies anyway so it's not that difficult to work up a cough.

Momma Gertie hobbles in and peers around with a look of horror. She dreads her rounds on Thursdays most of all. It's the day everyone is out of the house to school, work, and wherever the Misses has to be with her art. No one in the mansion means the maids and other staff have the freedom to knock out the once-a-week chores. The head maid divides up the rest of the house work for the morning to the other help. Russel's room, however, she handles herself. The disastrous mess left behind after only a week by the sixteen year old is enough to put a scare in any unseasoned maid. On the first floor of the lofted room, the larger built woman works hard on straightening Russel's desks and work tables by stacking whatever papers and gadgets are out in neat piles so he can get to them later, cleaning the ridiculous amount of junk-food debris out and scrubbing every surface so no more sticky residue from whatever had been culturing there for the past week is gone. Russ had planned on that taking forever and took every bit of time to prepare as he hides under the thick sweltering blankets and pillows. 

Momma Gertie finishes up and steps heavily up the loft stairs to pick up whatever laundry had been thrown around. As if she could sense his presence, her dark brown eyes shoot to the bed and stare before she walks over to a tucked in edge of the comforter. Russ feels one corner of his blankets lift before they're all yanked out from the tucked sides and onto the floor. He yelps huddling to himself and forcing a shiver. 

"M-Momma Gertie! Give 'em back, it's freezing in here! What time is it???" Russel croaks, secretly celebrating his unused gravelly morning voice inside as the disgruntled head maid eyes him suspiciously. 

He's flushed red not just from the previous rubbing, but also the fact that he’s only wearing a pair of boxers. A rubber glove comes off without heeding the whine for the blankets to be returned and is placed on the teenager's sweaty forehead. She growls at him with a grimace and a heavy Russian accent 

"It's late, Young Master. You better be deathly ill to be in my vay and not at school on a Thursday of all days". 

Russ groans giving her a dirty look "Whatever Gertie... I gotta get dressed for class" before scootching towards the edge of the massive bed to reach for the pile of comforters on the wooded floor. 

A fairly natural flemmy cough is blocked by the crook of his elbow and he plays it out into a full hacking and wheezing allergy-ridden cough session forcing the maid to take action. She bends over to sweep up the blankets and gently settle him back in bed. Gertie frowns at the teen as if seeing the little boy she wiped the nose of so many years ago as he catches his breath and shakes her head 

"You crazy child. You aren't going anywhere today." 

The soft words don't mean a thing when she also thumps you on the head for being dumb enough to move out of bed while sick. Russ clears his throat as he growls at the old lady currently bundling his trembling self up even more than he was initially 

"Gertie I'm fiiiiine". 

Momma Gertie isn't hearing a word of his ridiculousness and uses a rag from her pouch to wipe his sweaty face 

"you move from these covers and you'll regret it more than missing a day of lessons". 

Success. Russel makes a "hmph" noise giving her another grumpy look and turns to his side to try resting for the time being. The elderly maid smiles triumphantly and continues her cleaning.

She comments quietly as she picks up laundry and tossed it over into an open cleaning basket 

"so stubborn, just like Master Nikk..." "Trying to kill yourselv going to school with a cough like that..." "All these clothes...vere do they even come from??? Is only been a veek and yet there's a month's vorth of soiled laundry here" "I JUST vashed this shirt". 

The teen listens in giving a few deep breathes to let her think he's already falling asleep. Gertie finishes with a flourish of her duster and looks to the bush of messy brown hair poking out every which way from under the bedding. Russel looks already fast asleep even producing a few soft snores with the blankets pulled up to his nose. Momma Gertie gives him a warm smile- it's rare for the old bat to let it show, but she cares greatly for Russ and his family. She's just too hard-shelled to say it.

Exit the maid. Russel listens for a bit longer before hopping out of bed with a silent cheer, launching both fists up in the air and dancing in place for a moment. The feat deserves a little celebration-she's a hard woman to trick if the situation isn't right. The teen gives a quiet "ah-ahe-ahem" ready to take some non-drowsy meds to get rid of the allergies he was lucky to be dealing with this morning. His way is now clear of any mess inhibiting quiet movement. He smirks devilishly at the sight. If Gertie knew he was fine, she would have probably made him clean it before running off to school- and kicked his ass for being tardy. Quickly getting dressed in his villain gear from the dresser, Russ grins. He had made it all from scratch in his Dad's lab: specially formulated silver material turned into a pair of elbow length wide rimmed gloves, knee high boots with anti-gravity pulsars, and a sleeveless trench coat with a large crimson power crystal on the chest and a tall collar. All the individual pieces other than the black under-clothes share matching black edges and tech designs. The engineered fabric is actually metallic, light and flexible for fast movement, yet tough enough to protect from bullets and full force-super blows. It'll hurt, but it won't be fatal. Russ makes sure to stuff the inner pockets of his trench coat with gadgets and little necessary bits here and there. Now necessary to a 16 year old is varied... greatly. Yes there are healing supplies like a small flat kit with creams, medicines, bandages and a few things he made for himself, a few handy tools, whatever have you, but then there's a 6 foot phone charger, gum, snack bars and M&Ms, a sticker-covered notepad and laser pen (That is-combination pen and literal deadly laser). That satisfies everything on his mental list from the upper level of the room.

Russ looks to the rail of the stairs with a contemplative look for a few seconds. "Nah. Not worth it". He steps down the stairway without a sound despite the clunky metal boots. With all that gathered from upstairs, Russel manages to find his earpiece at his computer desk under the overhanging loft. It's specialized just like the rest of his gear, fitted for his right ear. It projects a red visor over his face and hooks up to his personal digital assistant "CLAIRE"-He'll figure out an acronym later. Think of Ironman, but without covering his whole pretty face. Pride in his looks is granted. He's a nice looking guy, but even he can admit he's a bit vain.

Pocketing the almost hearing aid-looking device, Russ finally notices the taste of his own tongue 

"Gu-ugh. Gross..." 

He heads over to a black door to the side of his desk on the back wall. The double panel door swipes to the side revealing a spacious personal bathroom. There's a reason the maid didn't have to touch this room. This is his most favorite room he actually keeps extremely neat and tidy. The intricate grey and black tiles cover most surfaces until you get to the black porcelain throne, matching L counter sporting a pair of deep sinks, large stand in shower area behind foggy glass doors, and an in-floor bath fit for a group of 12. Russel had this built onto his room as soon as he discovered the pleasures of Japanese hospitality, Spanish luxuries, and the French's... creative yet useful facilities. You can't go back to a little 2 and a half foot deep tub when your parents are rich and you have experienced a solo bath in a what is essentially a giant bubbly hot tub. Russ grins at the wall-to-wall mirrors without a single spec on them and gets to washing his face at the sink and getting ready.

Everything is easy enough except for his massive amount of hair. He re-parts his long bangs and combs them to the right. They stick back out with little thanks for his efforts. Sides, back, and top? All the same deal. His hair just seems to forever want to be a wavy, spikey honeycomb of chaos with the power of defying gravity. At least there's no tangles anymore... After a bit, He gets it decent looking and continues his usual hygiene regiment, gathering up the rest as he used them and brushing his teeth out the bathroom door.

Red toothbrush in one hand (and mouth), the other arm carrying deodorant, a bottle of allergy medicine, toothpaste, face scrub, hair gel and brush that all get poured into the front pocket of an already mostly packed backpack off a hook to the right the bathroom. The teen is happy to have remembered to pack some clothes in advance the night before. He slings the heavy school bag over his shoulder and recounts what he needs in his head. The only thing Russ needs to do at this point is grab out the complicated time machine he'd modified and compressed into the size of a coaster and attached to a wrist watch. This is where he'd swear he was blonde. 

"WH-Where... Where'd my watch go???" 

He grumbles to himself looking over the middle-now spotless-work table spanning from one side of the room to the other and drawers underneath. Once Russel spots it on top of a neat stack of blueprints and papers at the other end, his heart goes into his throat. Mama Gertie is in the doorway holding bed tray with what looks like a bowl of oatmeal, diced fruit and some gross looking medicinal concoction made into a sort of sludgy brown drink. She looks pissed as Russ nearly bites his toothbrush in half. 

"Master AvarYYYYCE...." 

He's in deep trouble if not dead if she catches him. The less-than brave teen yelps and dashes for the end of the table just as she roars from the other side of the room. Momma Gertie sees what he's after, drops the tray, and lashes out in an attempt to grab him by the neck. A totally not girlish scream echoes through the spacious room as the teen dodges colliding with the table and flips over it with his precious gadget in hand-the overly stuffed backpack falling to the floor with a thud just off from where he landed. Gertie isn't letting him get away without a fight as she yells "Get the HELL Over Here!!!" and knocks over the tables in her fury 

"Damn you Lying Little FAKER"! 

She traps the teen's legs under the heavy metal tables and goes for a flying body slam with one bony elbow posed and ready to pin Russ down ever more (As it was mentioned before-this is no ordinary old lady). Tapping a few buttons to a date, place and time set while on his side, Russ unleashes a blinding ray of blue light, and then he's gone. Gertie lands where he was in the scorch mark left behind along with a spit-covered toothbrush (probably spat out in the panic) and roars out 

"RUSSEEEEEEEELLLL!" 

This doesn't even surprise the other help who just shrug it off and continue working around the house. They hear that more often than the dinner bell.


	3. To the Past (I think)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having narrowly escaped with his life, Russ has to figure out where the hell he is- and what to eat. That's important too.

"Glad I didn't have anything sharp in my pockets..." 

is the one thought that passes through the dazed mind of Russel Avaryce lying flat on his back on a freshly singed patch of grass nowhere near his house or the crazed head maid. Luckily his bag managed to come along, landing near his boots. The teen groans to his feet and looks around the (mostly, thanks to him) pristine lush grass and realizes he'd sent himself to his school grounds around the back of the outside bleachers. This earns a proud nod after brushing himself off 

"I'm too good. Not a centimeter off location-wise. Now if only I could tell if this was the right time..." 

With that voiced-aloud thought Russ rubs at his chin starting to step away from his landing site and pulls his bag to his shoulder. 

"Newspapers weren't popular when Mom and dad were in High School.... They were on the way out with the advances in social technologies. There goes that time travel stereotype..." 

he ponders aloud some more while strapping the delicate altered watch to his wrist under his glove before snapping his fingers

" My Phone!-". 

The bulky overstuffed backpack goes back to the ground so he can dig for it. After a minute of searching, his eyes go blank and wishes he was dead 

"It's on my nightstand...." 

Russ starts pulling everything out all over the grass around him pleading for karma to give him a freebie. Nope. The significantly important gadget is not there. 

"Fuck, I can't go back there for my phone- the damn maid will skin me alive!!! NOOOO!" 

Not aware of how loud he was, a few unfamiliar kids walking to school on the street near him laugh loudly at his expense. Russel thankfully just looks like a disgruntled student rather than a possible time-traveler and jumps at the sudden disruption of his breakdown. One more hero-looking blonde girl in the group cups her slim hands around her mouth 

"It's just your phone dude! Chill".

This makes her friends laugh obnoxiously further embarrassing the strange kid kneeling in the grass several yards away. Russ growls to himself running his hands through his hair. After gathering his things back up, it dawns on him 

"This can't be my time. Future Cell Phones are like your link to everything- bank accounts, driver's license, social security numbers, passport, EVERYTHING! It's replaced every scrap of identification people used to carry around. You can't even go on a bus without it-No sane person would just leave it somewhere and not go back for their phone in 2035!" 

Russ snorts to himself at the irony of that statement being without HIS phone, but shrugs it off still happy about his extraordinary achievement. His homemade time machine worked-'where' in the past is still not clear, BUT IT WORKED.

Russel's goofy celebratory jig makes another appearance as he takes his time once the bells toll to reach the school's less used side entrance to check things out. The heavily built fortress of a school is massive and apparently didn't change too much from what Russ is used to. Same metal and brick walls, same bright red trim around the sides and windows, same, though much younger, cranky security guard standing in the way. He's Russel's favorite security guard in his time, if only because he's a lot of fun to mess with. 

"Mr. Tolhurst- how are the heck are ya??? Just uh-getting to English if you could juuuuuust-" 

Russ exclaims giving the nearly door-sized cherry colored man a friendly smile turning to his side to try sliding by. A huge red fist slams into the metal frame of the doors blocking the tardy student's way 

"ID?" 

Russ feigns a good search through his side pockets and shrugs opening his empty gloved hands 

"Sorry-guess I forgot it at home." 

Mr. Tolhurst isn't budging simply crossing his arms over his huge chest and looking down his chubby nose at him with little strained eyes 

"I don't 'member you... what's your name son?" 

Thinking on his feet and hoping to whatever deities are watching that this is the right time, he chokes out with a nervous tremble 

"Nikola Avaryce...? I'm gonna miss my class sir." 

Squinting at the teenager even more, Russ smirks knowing the literal brick wall of a man is blind as a bat and requires glasses in his time. Glasses he's not yet wearing and working oh so marvelously in Russel's favor as the security guard moves aside with a stern look 

"Ah, the new kid. You sure are cocky coming in late for the first day o' class. Your hair's a mess. Get to the office, get a temp badge, and comb that down, Avaryce." 

Russ nods at him and grins in victory once turned away and successfully in the building 

"stupid ol' fart. It's not as fun when you don't hate my guts yet".

Getting through the door under his dad's name only means one thing: he's made it to the right era, and on the exact day no less. This deserves a trip to the vending machine- 'no wait, no it doesn't'. Russel groans strolling down the long entrance hall and to the vending area on the right with a defeated look 

"Shit, I don't have any money..."

His stomach makes it known the lack of breakfast is very much so noticed with a grumble. Luckily he came prepared remembering the many nooks and crannies of his coat lined with snacks and other useful things. Sitting on one of the benches beside the machines, Russ unzips his trench coat to reach in and grab out every nutty buddy, granola bar, pop tart, and package of M&Ms he can find from the inner pockets. His stash is a bit measly compared to what he thought he had 

"One, two... four... eight, nine, and... ten? I could've sworn..."

None the less, the hungry teen devours five of them deciding to ration the rest for later. Best not to be caught without anything to eat when he's got no money and technically doesn't exist yet. The wrappers are left on the bench as Russ heads off to the gymnasium passed the office and down the trophy hall. If he remembers the few details about his parents first meeting they actually gave him, it's that it was during hand-to-hand combat in P.E. .

Once in the gym, Russ shoots for the under area of the bleachers with a panicked yelp. He had just been narrowly missed by a flaming red rubber dodge ball thrown off course as a flurry of super powered students war with each other. 

"Why didn't I freaking hear all this going on? Oh yeah, they hadn't needed to replace the sound barriers yet..." 

Russel moans quietly recollecting himself as he watches the gruesome game from in-between the steps. The gymnasium later on had to re-install major sound proofing thanks to a particular sonic powered super moving in. The villain in training visibly trembles at the thought of his current love interest Keisha sending a screeching blast at his face knocking him ten feet in the opposite direction and breaking the previously (and in this time period) perfectly good shielding that encompassed the gymnasium. A frozen ball shattering into the bleachers snaps him out of his thoughts with a quick duck onto the dusty floor. The shards all spray passed him to the wall and clatter everywhere. 

" I gotta find a better hidey hole..."

With another few nearly fatal encounters with the rubber dodge balls of death, Russ crawled his way down the underside of the bleachers and crept up a set of metal stairs. From up here on the second level boxes, The teen can see every student and teacher without being noticed and even has protection in the form of bulletproof glass.

All of the students battling it out down there grew up in Russel's time to be some of the coolest Villains (and Heroes I suppose) now nearing the end of their careers and raising the next generations. There's Rock Solid slinging back a dozen balls at once with a hefty toss and then taking the hits for his team with his hard hide, Hoax using his powers to port the balls back to the opposite side right over the heads of his opponents, H2Woah summoning water from the air and using it at a shield. 

Russ watches as a few games are played with little interest once he figures out that this isn't the right class. He instead fiddles with his gadgets he'd brought along-like for instance the earpiece he forgot to put on. Once settled behind his ear and hair, the visor blurs to life over his eyes. CLAIRE, the AI behind the tech, addresses Russel with the usual amount of sass the computer is somehow able to muster with ease-

"Hello Mater Avaryce. WHAT can I do for you?"

Russ snorts sitting back with his feet up on the seats in front of him "CLAIRE, I was just booting up my stuff. I didn't need you on right now".

The AI scoffs back as she brings the connection screens up-"Master Avaryce, you constantly need me. Would you like to search your own name again?"

The browser he usually sees instantly is pulled into his view within 25 second's worth of load time (an eternity in Russel's mind when it comes to HIS equipment). Russ cocks a thick brow and grimaces-

"What the hell? You messing with me CLAIRE?"

"No Sir. I cannot access the system I was connected to previously. I had to access the satellites directly to get this garbage".

The time traveler face palms above the glowing red visor and groans "oh yeah. I'm in the past. Duh." Not that the search would have come up with anything. He doesn't exist yet. Russel decides CLAIRE isn't worth straining his patients and shuts her down for now along with his visor.

The current class full of Supers finally ends after a long grueling hour and a half of boredom for the teenage genius with little more than the contents of his pockets to keep himself content. Besides a ball somehow bonking off the glass, he was mostly undisturbed and dozed off (the trip through time really took it out of him). The school bell is even louder up where he is in the second level spectator boxes and jolts him right out of the outstretched position he was in. Russ ends up on the floor once more and groans rubbing at his side where he fell-

"I'm gonna have to learn to be less jumpy. My jacket isn't padded enough for this crap".

From the glass, Russel views the students all begin to file out after giving a high five to one of many outstretched hands of a cheery looking Super teacher with at least 3 arms on each side of her body. The teen puzzles a finger under his chin-

"She's not familiar-probably retired before my time here... Shame. She looks a hell of a lot nicer than Coach Croagger".

He decides now might be time to head back down again while the classes are changing out rather than pondering life out a window. Down the stairs, passed the teacher, and back under the bleachers. Russ sighs quietly leaning against the brick wall with a tired expression.

"This whole time travel thing better be worth all this exercise..."

The peppy gym teacher flips a switch over towards her station and takes cover within the little teacher's protective box. Russel notices and has to cover his mouth before a few loud curses escape. He knows that switch having flipped it once or twice himself-and regrets each instance greatly. The school, being as advanced as it is, has countless functions to maintain the building. From fire extinguishers at every corner that detect and stop fires automatically even switching the kind of extinguisher fluid depending on the type of fire, blast shielding and reinforced EVERYTHING, security measures that even Russ hasn't figured out how to break out of, and of course... Self cleaning areas in the cafeteria, class rooms, and the gymnasium...

The teacher must have deemed the destruction, ice, scorch marks, ect strewn all over the gymnasium not very habitable for the next class. Before Russel currently hiding in a non-shielded place can escape, giant brushes and hoses lower themselves from hatches in the ceiling turning the dishevelled room into something more like a gigantic automatic car wash.

Specialized parts target certain issues patching up walls, melting the massive amount of ice FreezePop shot out over the bleachers on the other side of the room from Russel, the burnt areas are scrubbed and repainted, and any other damage is repaired in no time. Next, warm water shoots all over soaking the metal walls, floor, bleachers and of course poor Russ down to the bone through the bars of his hiding place. The drenched teen coughs into his hand now a shivering wreck hoping it's over-though he knows for a fact that it's only beginning. Huge scrubbers are tasked with clearing the excess water and debris out of the way towards the east side of the gym near a long sort of trough opened up just for this purpose. Russel narrowly avoids being brushed out from under the bleachers by clinging to the undersides of the seats like a spider monkey. He growls cold and irritated by the whole situation 

"okay-NoW ArE YoU DONE YET?!?"

The shout is answered with a rude NO from the universe out to make this kid as miserable as possible. The undustrial blowers are the final step in the cleaning process pushing all the water, bits of whatever may be left (And One Teenage Evil Genius) off with ridiculous wind power to the same trench on the side of the gymnasium near the showers.

The place is spick and span~ or at least it would be. The teacher finally notices a stray student that must have been caught in the washing process plastered to the opposite wall discombobulated, hair and clothes everywhere from the blower, and royally pissed off. Needless to say, she rushes out of her protective glass bunker/office and goes to his aid. Six arms pull Russ up from the floor and cradle him. He gasps and coughs some water up out of his lungs once aware of the much larger than previously thought woman (making her WAY more intimidating up close)-

"Oh-*cough COUGH* ow- oh-I-Uh-"

The giant multi-limbed woman settles him down on the ground with both concern and anger all over her elegant features.

"Are you okay sweety?"

Russ blinks in confusion moving his now uncontrollably poofed out hair out of his eyes and blushing hard getting so much attention "Uh... I guess so? Just kinda sore and wet".

"What were you doing in here??? Aren't you supposed to be getting to your next class?" She questions quickly pawing around his face chest and hands to be sure he wasn't hurt.

"Oh-I... think this is my next class? I dunno-I'm lost. I just got here a little bit ago." He explains lying through his teeth. "I'm pro'lly not on the roster yet-I literally just got signed up yesterday..."

The teacher decides he seems fine for now and looks him over "You sure aren't having the best first day, huh sweety? What's your name?"

Russel can't fight the little smile on his face at the "sweety" part. That's what his mom calls him. 'My name-shit-can't use my last name-it's a dead give away... A simple alias with some truth laced in is much easier to get away with and sounds more believeable. Lying 101. Chapter 12.

"Russ. Russel Sparks, ma'am. Thank you very much for helping me~" he chirps offering his gloved hand for a shake (which hand to offer it to however is tricky).

The gym teacher giggles into one of her left hands while clasping Russel's hand with two of her rights and another left "Polite aren't you-I like that. You can call me Miss. Indigo".

getting up off the ground and brushing himself off, Miss. Indigo actually gets to look him over "You a Hero or Villain trainee? You're outfit is very ambiguous".

Russ cocks an eyebrow hearing a word with so many syllables being pronounced in the perky red head teacher's slightly southern accent (Not that he thinks she's dumb or anything-it just hits the ear funny)-

"Ambiguous? I figured I look pretty dark and evil in all black, grey and red. Obviously a villaaaain?" He jokes waving his hands down his slim frame in a flashy presentative fashion.

Miss. Indigo laughs ruffling Russel's fluffy curly mess of hair "well Mr. Villain, let's get you cleaned up before class starts alright?"

Russ can't refuse having already been scooped up like an infant and carried off to the most definitely more Hero-oriented friendly teacher's back office.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to continue posting on this as I work on it~ all characters are mine with a plethora of influences. I also draw if you wanna look on Instagram for BlueMewQ.T


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